“The Calvary is on its way,” I tell Butch when I come back in, throwing him a bag of crackers and another water, “But I need to have a serious talk with you right now.”
Butch tilts his head and eyes me, “Is this a ‘get ready to pray’ speech?” he asks.
“No,” I chuckle at him, “This is a ‘A lot of very strange and impossible things are about to happen very soon but you have to trust me’ speech,” I tell him, “We are going to land safe and sound, Butch. We are going to take every one of these people off this plane to meet their families. All I need you to do is have Rick talk you through the landing and trust me that I’m taking care of the bomb and it won’t go off. And not to ask a lot of questions about the how’s and why’s.”
“I’m a soldier, Claire,” he tells me, “I’ve been trained not to question authority.”
“I’m not your CO,” I tell him back, “I’m a mortgage underwriter, for God’s sakes. You have no reason to trust me. But all that said, I am the best option for getting us out of here alive. And that means that you’re going to see and hear some freaky shit that I don’t have time to explain.”
“Like why your phone works?” he asks me.
“Exactly,” I tell him.
“I guess there’s not much of a choice,” he tells me, “I do believe that you’re trying to save us. Do what you need to do and I’ll worry about the navigation.”
“Thank you,” I smile and call Matt back, “Drake’s on his way to you,” I tell him when he picks up, “Did you find a bomb expert yet?”
“Yeah,” Matt tells me, “Meet Bill. Bill, say hello to Claire and Butch.” A non-committal grunt sounds through the speaker.
“He’s not much of a conversationalist,” Matt quips, “Have you figured out what you’re going to need?”
“Two more of these magic phones,” I tell him, “We’ll need one to transmit pictures and two for communications. High-powered flashlights, warm clothes, gloves and whatever Bill gives us.”
“Oxygen,” Butch adds, “The air is too thin up here – you’ll pass out.”
“Um,” I tell him, “Remember that conversation we just had about a lot of weird things are about to happen?” He arches a brow at me, “We won’t need oxygen. We’ll be fine.”
He stares at me in disbelief and then shakes his head, “I don’t want to know,” he mutters and turns back to the controls.
“Ok,” Matt replies, “I’m going off to get that stuff for you. How’s your battery holding up?”
“It’s getting pretty low,” I tell him after I look at it, “Make that three phones – just in case.”
“Got it,” Matt says, “Hang up to save as much charge as you can. When Drake gets here we’ll call you back.”
I hang up and rub my hands over my face.
“Hell of a day, huh?” Butch grumbles.
“Is it just one day still?” I chuckle mockingly.
“Well, it’s probably into the next one by now,” Butch points out to the night sky surrounding us, “Why don’t you catch a power nap while we have a few minutes of down-time? One thing you learn as a soldier is that you grab your sleep whenever you can.”
I nod and tilt my head back, letting my eyes close. “I’ll just rest my eyes,” I tell myself.
The phone rings again, making me jump in my seat even before my brain registers that it was just asleep and now it’s not. “Easy,” Butch chuckles at me and answers it.
“Claire?” Drake’s voice comes over the speaker, “You hanging in there?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “Are you in Miami?”
“Yes – I got here a few minutes ago. I’ve been working with Rick to pinpoint your exact location. We’ve got a lock on you now. Matt’s got everything you asked for. You’re in the cockpit, right?”
“Yes, Butch and I are locked in the cockpit,” I answer, “Do you have a schematic of the plane?”
“We’re on it, Claire,” Rick’s voice answers back, “I’ve flown that model many times. Drake’s got a download of the schematic on his phone and we have it all under control. We’re ready to send Drake in now.”
“Send him in?” Butch mouths to me and then shakes his head again, “Never mind.”
“Ok – we’re ready too,” I answer.
And then his cloves and woodsmoke washes over me. I turn to see him dropping his bundles on the floor and he immediately grabs me up and kisses me - hard, “God, Claire,” he mumbles, kissing me again, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, giving him a hug before pulling away, “Drake, this is Butch. Butch this is Drake.” I’m a little confused about his worry over me, of all people. Out of all of us, I’m the most likely to wash up on the beach the least hurt and the soonest. I’m far more worried about the humans on the plane than I am about me.
“Good to meet you, mate,” Butch extends his hand, “And I’m not saying a damned thing about you poofing out of thin air. I don’t want to know,” he turns back to the controls again.
“I told you you poof,” I tease him.
“I – do – not – poof,” he growls back and me and I give him a very innocent smile in return.
He rolls his eyes and dials Darius’ number on one of the phones he’s brought, “Here,” he gives it to Butch, “They’re conferencing us all in so you’ll be able to hear everything. Claire, you can turn yours off now.”
I end the call and turn my phone off when I hear Rick answer the line.
“I’m going down to take a look,” Drake announces, “Rick, how much room is there going to be down there?”
“Probably not much,” Rick answers, “A tiny monkey would work – that way you’d still have hands and you could hang from your tail to take pictures when you find it.”
A second later Drake shimmers and changes into a small Capuchin. I get up and turn the camera on the other phone and hand it to him, resisting the urge to pat his little head. He’d probably bite me if I tried. And then he’s gone.
“Did he just,” Butch starts to ask me and I shoot him a look, “Never mind. This is me shutting up now,” he says and we both listen intently for clues to what Drake is doing. We can hear some scrambling and scratching sounds and occasionally breathing, but that’s it. Eventually we hear the sound of repeated pictures being taken.
Then Drake comes back and changes back into himself, “Can you upload those?” he asks me, shoving the phone in my hand, “I think I can move stuff around enough down there to open up the area around the bomb.”
He poofs – oh, sorry, ports – away again and I forward the pictures to the email address Matt called out. Once that’s done, Butch and I roll through the pictures.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to what looks like pipes running along the floor.
“That’s the ceiling,” Butch chuckles, “Looks like he was hanging from them when he took these. Look – that dirty bastard has the bomb attached into the oxygen system. See that port?” he points to something that looks like a flexible tube attached to the side of the wall, “That’s how they check the tank levels and fill it if it needs it.”
“Ok, we got them,” Matt tells us, “We’ll call you back when Bill’s done studying them.”
“We’re getting pretty close on time, Matt,” I tell him.
“I know, but we’re still ok,” he assures me, “It won’t take Bill long.”
Butch gets up to stretch his legs and use the restroom and I take the opportunity to pull my clothes from the duffle that Drake brought. Inside is a snowmobile suit, a pair of boots and a pair of warm but flexible gloves. I put the bottom of the suit on over my shorts and switch out my shoes for the boots, but leave the suit hanging around my waist. It’s cool in the cabin but I would be roasting if I put the whole thing on now.
Butch comes back and checks the gauges again, but they haven’t moved since he left. We’re still holding steady.
A few minutes later, Drake comes back.
“I’ve got the spot around the bomb cleared away,” he says, “Have they come back on yet?”
“Not yet,” I tell him, grabbing a flashlight and a head-lamp from the gear-bag.
“What are you doing?” Drake asks me, “You’re not going.”
“Yes I am,” I tuck one of the new phones in my pocket, “I’m not playing Sandra Bullock to your Keanu Reeves.”
“Well technically,” Drake replies, “He would be Sandra Bullock because he’s the one flying, but,”
“I’m going,” I cut him off.
“It’s too dangerous,” Drake tells me and I snort.
“I got shot in the head this morning, Drake. While saving the Pope from an assassination attempt,” I roll my eyes at him, “I think you’re just afraid I’ll make you look bad.”
“Please,” he snorts but Butch interrupts him, “Actually, mate, another set of hands would probably be useful – unless you can turn into an octopus too.”
“If you two are done with your little lover’s spat,” a gravelly voice comes over the speaker-phone, and I can only assume this is Bill, “The girl goes. I need all the eyes on that thing that I can get. If I could figure out a way for the Aussie to go I’d send him too.”
I stick my tongue out at Drake and he shakes his head at me, “Have you figured it out, Bill?” Butch asks him.
“Mostly,” Bill gruffs, “Doesn’t look like a pro-job, but it’ll still be damned effective. Suit up and get yourselves in there.”
I pull the rest of my snowsuit on and zip up. Then I shove my gloves on, “Let’s go,” I tell Drake.
“Hang on a minute,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”
Butch looks over to me after Drake leaves, “How long have you two been together?” he asks with a chuckle.
“What – no,” I blush a bit, “We’re not together. We’re just friends.”
“If you say so,” he shrugs, clearly not believing me. Before I can say anything else, Drake comes back with a water bottle and downs it in one go.
“Ok, now I’m ready,” he says and wraps me securely in his arms.
The hold is freezing cold and very dark. I fumble for my head-lamp and turn it on before letting go of Drake. The air is very thin and smells faintly of ozone. I can tell no human would survive for more than a few seconds before passing out and then dying of hypothermia.
Drake turns on his head-lamp too and he turns me around to see the bomb up close.
“Put some video on that thing,” Bill’s bark comes through our speakers. We both take out our phones and switch on our flashlights. Aiming our beams and then bringing in our phones, we move over every part of the bomb. Drake concentrates on the bomb itself and I video where the bomb is wired to .
It’s on the outside wall, about two feet from the door. It looks like a big block of Silly Putty with some wires sticking out of it. It looks so harmless – like something a little boy would make with bits from his dad’s scrap-pile. Some of the wires run to the tube that the oxygen runs through with more Silly Putty wrapped around it. Some lead to other pipes. But there’s a long, multi-colored coil of wires that runs up along the ceiling and into the dark depths.
“That must be the detonator,” I put my camera on it.
“You’d be correct there, little missy,” Bill grumbles, “And I need to see what it’s hooked up to.”
There’s about eighteen inches of space between the top of the stacks and the ceiling, “Ok,” I say and toss my flashlight on top of the nearest stack of luggage, “Hold on a minute and I’ll crawl up there.”
“There’s an easier way, Claire,” Drake tells me.
“I know,” I wink at him, “But you’ve already burnt up a lot of energy. Save what you have. I can do this,” and I scoot myself up to the unsteady stacks. I push myself to my back and take up my flashlight and camera again. I aim them both and slowly back-crawl across the teetering stacks.
“That’s good, girly,” Bill encourages me, “Keep going.”
My arms are getting tired from holding both of them steady as I scoot myself along, but I take a deep breath and push on. I feel the suitcases pull and tug at my suit as their zippers and outside pockets catch it, but overall I get on pretty well.
Then I find two stacks of hard-shelled cases and I stop to catch my breath, “Let me stretch out my arms for a minute,” I tell Bill and lower both of them down. My flashlight shows a tiny flash of electric purple and I raise my head and look over.
They’re my luggage. Jimmy and Zeppelin right next to each other. “Whoa,” I think, “Seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Come on, kick it in gear,” Bill growls, “We don’t have all friggin’ night for Christ’s sakes.”
“Keep your pants on,” I grumble and pick my arms up again, starting my slide, “I thought you weren’t much for conversation,” I say to myself and creep along.
After a few more minutes, my head hits the back wall. Not hard, but enough to get my attention in a hurry. The wires lead down behind the stacks of luggage. There’s no way to move all of them out of the way. There are too many of them and there’s no room to put more on top.
“Drake,” I sigh, “I need about seven or eight suitcases poofed out of here.”
“Ported,” Drake growls at me.
“Moved,” I snap back at him, “Please,” I add.
He appears right next to me and shifts over until he’s right in front of the first suitcase blocking the cord, “Any idea where to?” he asks.
“There’s a curtained-off section in the front of first class,” I tell him, “Be quick.”
He smirks, “Never heard a girl tell me that before,” he says before grabbing the first case and poofing away.
And then right back. Six more cases down, we finally find a control panel. The wires snake inside.
“Good,” Bill tells us, “Do not open the panel. Put cameras all along the opening. It could be booby-trapped.”
I doubt it, as it’s hanging ajar, but we dutifully bound down on the remaining stack and scan our cameras in as close as we can.
“Hold on,” Bill tells us and then it’s silent for a few minutes.
“Ok, it looks like the panel is clear,” he comes back on and Drake and I both roll our eyes, “Open it and let’s see what we’ve got.”
I film as Drake opens it. There are ten wires leading into different circuits.
“Zoom in top-left to bottom right, girl,” Bill snarls, “Boy, I need your camera on the listings on the door.”
“Hard to believe he’s a human, huh?” Drake whispers in my ear, “He’s almost as grouchy as Darius.” I giggle.
“Keep them cameras still and focus on what you’re doing,” Bill snaps, “This ain’t ‘The Love Connection’, you know.”
We spend the next several minutes in silence, slowly sweeping the panel.
“All right,” Bill sighs, “Matt and I need to huddle up for a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Is that why you didn’t just port him onboard?” I ask Drake, “Because he’s human?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “He’s not any happier about it than we are, but there’s no way he could do this.”
“Thanks for coming,” I tell him. He didn’t have to. He already looks exhausted. I can’t imagine how much energy he’s burned through. He came all the way from Phoenix to Miami, then onto a moving plane, then changed into a monkey, plus all of the poofing he’s done on the plane itself.
“I told you,” he sighs and rolls his shoulders. I reach for his back to rub it and immediately feel how drained he is, “You need to replenish,” I tell him, “Here,” I lean in to kiss him and he jerks away from me like I just burnt him.
“No,” he hisses, “I’m fine.”
“Drake,” I look at his face, “You’re exhausted and we’ve got more to do.”
“Not from you,” he inches further away from me, “Never from you. I’ll be back,” he says and poofs out. I stand there, staring at the empty space he just occupied and wonder what the hell just happened. “Is he mad at me?” I wonder, “Why not me? What the hell?”
Bill comes back on, “Well, we have it figured out. Get out the wire cutters.”
“Um,” I look around, “I don’t see the case.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bill snorts, “You both went to the junction point and neither of you bothered to take the case with you? What freaking geniuses you both are. I’d do better putting your Aussie friend down there. At least he’d keep his mind off his libido long enough to get the job done.”
I swallow it all down, knowing that pissing this man off wouldn’t do anyone any good. There are people up there depending on me, whether they know it or not, “All right,” I shove my boot between cases and pull myself up, “I’ll be back.”
“Hurry, Claire,” I hear Rick call out, “You’re getting close to Miami air-space.”
“Great,” I mumble to myself as I pull myself along the luggage in the middle of the plane. I’m on my belly now and very thankful for the thousands of chin-ups I’ve done over the years. I’m practically swimming over the cases – pulling with my arms and pushing with my legs. I cover the distance in pretty good time and drop down to grab the case.
It’s heavier than it looks. It takes me three tries to heave it on top of the stacks – the second of which had it careening back to my face and only a Jujitsu block and quick side step saves my nose from being broken. It’s a titanium case too, and I briefly wonder about my shoes. I didn’t see them the first time around, but now’s not the time to go hunting for them.
After the third heave is successful, I climb the wall again and belly-crawl and push the case as fast as I can. Drake still isn’t back. He told me he would be. Drake may be a lot of things – cocky bastard number one, but he’s not a liar. And not someone that I would ever have pegged as abandoning a friend in need.
I push the case again and try to cut off that train of thought because it gets me nowhere. Diffusing this bomb is what’s important. Figuring out the bomb that is Drake can be saved for another day.
I throw the case over the side and jump down after it, “Wire cutters,” I hit the phone again, “Got them.”
“The dark blue wire connected to the second row, third cell,” Bill growls and I have to imagine him with a cigar hanging out of his mouth, “Cut it about six inches out.”
“Are you getting this?” I ask as I hold my phone in one hand and the cutters in the other. Drake’s phone is tucked between two suitcases – speaker pointing out.
“Pull your head-lamp down more,” Bill instructs, “Where’s your partner?”
“Dunno,” I tell him, measuring out from the box and snipping quickly, “What’s next?”
“The green wire, row seven,” Bill tells me, “Cut it as close as you can.”
For the next three minutes, Bill leads me through a seemingly random series of positions, colors and lengths. I do what he asks without question. Drake isn’t back yet.
We’re finally down to the last wire.
“Put your cutters down, girl,” Bill tells me, “You know how to braid?"
“Yeah,” I snort.
“Good. Pick up the yellow on the second row, the brown on the first row and the red on the first row. Braid them to about half an inch left.”
“Ok,” I tell him, wondering what all that is about, “Done,” I announce ten seconds later.
“Open the case and find a vial of white liquid in there,” he instructs, “DO NOT jostle it. Pick it up slowly and carefully and as stably as you can.”
“What is it?” I ask as I open the form-fitting foam around it and get my fingers around it.
“Nitro,” he tells me, “Don’t worry – it’s stable as long as it’s not shaken up too much. Just take it out and push the wires into the top of the rubber seal as far as you can. Make sure all of them have good contact.”
“Should I start worrying that he’s enabling the bomb now instead of disabling it?” I wonder to myself, “I guess I don’t have any choice but to trust him – either,” I sigh and do as he says.
Again, Bill leads me through a series of braids – at times scraping the insulation on one or more wires to make contact high up on the braid to short the wires and arc to an adjacent bundle. Some of them he has me stick in more vials, although none of them are nitro. Some of them he has me wrap with electrical tape and leave hanging loose.
The last white wire is still threaded through the main power breaker. Bill doesn’t say anything about it.
“Ok, we’re done girly,” Bill tells me, “Leave the case. I’ll need you to gather up all of the evidence and put it in there after it triggers.”
“What?” I ask him, “I thought we were supposed to diffuse the bomb.”
“You remember your basic physics, Claire?” Matt answers me, “How a circuit with a switch works?”
“Yeah,” I respond, closing the case up but leaving it where it is, “So we left the switch in place but took out what it does?”
“Almost,” Matt agrees, “We can’t pull that tablet out until after the autopilot goes off. When the autopilot goes off, the switch closes and the power flows into that brick of C4. We’ve pulled everything else off, but if we cut that wire before-hand, the tablet will be notified and will blow the whole cockpit.”
“So the C4 goes off?” I ask, “What the hell?”
“No,” Bill growls, “You cut that wire at the same time. It’s going to be tight, but we’ve got you all coordinated. You’ll be fine. What are you standing on, by the way?”
“Somebody’s suitcase,” I put my light and phone down so they can see it,” I think there’s two or three between the floor and me.”
“Good – it looks like you’re grounded. The electricity won’t arc back into the plane,” Rick says, “The electronics won’t be damaged.”
“Wait,” I turn the phone around so they can see my face, “Are you telling me I’ll be cutting a live wire?”
“Well, yeah,” Matt says apologetically, “But it’s the only way, Claire. Really – we’ve looked at it every way we can. It’ll probably hurt, but you’re not going to die.”
“Unfucking believable,” I mutter, “I better get a damned raise out of all of this. And a vacation. And a comp-day. And a spa day.”
“Whaa!” Bill spits out to me, “Quit your whining. You need your diaper changed too? Or are you going to let all those people up there die because you’re going to get a little shock?”
“Oh all right!” I huff, “Of course I’m going to do it. How much time do we have?”
“About ten minutes,” Butch tells me, “Your boyfriend not back yet?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And no, he’s not back yet,” I lean against the cases and rub my eyes. I don’t do waiting well. I’d love to take another power-nap, but it’s too cold in here and I’d really love to get to a bathroom soon.
I open the case and pull out the wire cutters again. I tuck them in my pocket. It would be my luck that it’s time and I drop them in between the suitcases or something.
“You should make an announcement at one minute till that the power may flicker but not to worry,” Rick tells Butch, “And if her boyfriend isn’t back by then, you’re going to need someone else to pull that tablet out at the exact time. You can’t do it – you’ll have control of the plane right then and you need to keep the change-over smooth and seamless.”
“Ok,” Butch tells him, “Let me get my CO and that wanker-flight attendant again.”
“No need,” Drake’s voice comes on, “I can do both. I speak fluent Italian.”
“Where the hell you been, boy?” Bill growls at him, “You left your girlfriend to do all the work for you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” I shout at them all, “Do you think you can take me up to go to the bathroom and warm up for a few minutes?”
“I’m sorry, Claire,” Drake appears next to me. He looks better, “It’s fine,” I shrug, “Let’s go.”
“Drake poofs me into the bathroom and poofs away. It takes me a few minutes to upzip and pull down my suit with my numb fingers. The comparative heat in the pressurized cabin soon has me patting the back of my next with the flimsy paper towels in the pull-out dispenser. I wash up and head to the cockpit.
“Good to see you, Claire,” Butch gives me a grin, “Word is that you did a brilliant job down there.”
I snort, “Didn’t sound like it to me,” I sit down and start fanning myself. I’m actually sweating in this suit now, “Bill sounded like he wanted to rip my head off.”
“Aw, he’s that way with everyone,” Matt whispers to us, “He really is very impressed with you.”
“How much time do we have?” I ask. I can see the glow of lights up ahead.
“Four minutes and forty-three seconds,” Rick answers, “Butch, give her the glove.”
Butch reaches down under his seat and hands me a big, black rubber glove.
“Why is there a rubber glove under the pilot’s seat?” I ask.
“After nine-eleven, people went a little crazy,” Rick chuckles, “There’s a whole hazmat suit under there.”
“I know the grips on the wire-cutters are rubberized,” Bill growls out again, “But you’re going to have to cut that wire and immediately hit the breaker. If you can’t let go then we’re screwed.”
“Ok,” I tuck it in my pocket with my tool and drink the water I left up here last time, “So let’s go over this one more time.”
“Good idea,” Matt agrees, “Is Drake there with you?”
“Right here,” Drake answers.
“In one minute and twenty-seven seconds, you’re going to poof Claire back down to the hold,” he starts.
“I don’t poof!” Drake cries out, exasperated.
“And then,” Bill cuts in, ignoring Drake’s outburst as effectively as they all ignored mine, “At exactly one minute till, you make the announcement that says you may experience a slight power flicker, but it is nothing to worry about and you’re on schedule to land in Miami.”
“Then,” Matt cuts in, “Exactly fifty seconds later, we’ll count you all down. Once we tell you, Claire, you cut the wire and immediately hit the main power breaker. As soon as the power goes out, Drake, you disconnect the tablet. As soon as that’s done, Claire, you hit the power again. It should be no more than five seconds, Drake, so you need to study how they’re hooked up now.”
“During this time,” Rick speaks, “Butch will be on manual flight with no display. So it needs to be as fast as you can do it. Even a tiny change in altitude or heading could be disastrous.”
“Once power has been restored,” Bill speaks up, “You and your girlfriend need to clean up every speck of that bomb. Not even the tiniest trace of C4 or bitsiest bit of wire can be left. Pack it all up in the bottom of the case and bring her and the case back up. Then you close the panel and put the suitcases back.”
“And then,” Darius’s voice calls out, “You and Claire do damage control on everyone on that plane – leaving Butch for last, of course.”
“What about the imp and the real pilots?” I ask.
“Bring the pilots in the cockpit with you,” Darius tells us, “Leave the imp where he is. Wipe the soldiers and put them up front in first class where you set up triage. That’s where they deserved to fly anyway. Wipe everyone else’s mind in first class and set up the scenario that Claire insisted that the attendants have space set aside in first class for them and the crew complied. Make sure everyone in the crew believes the same story. When you near the terminal, I’ll have a crew of bi’s waiting to help you with last-minute clean-up and the rest of the passengers. Drake, you bring that tablet, that case and that imp to me.”
“What if the pilots don’t wake up?” I ask him, “And what about Butch?”
“The pilots are in a demon-lock, Claire,” Darius tells me, “Once the rest of the passengers are gone, I’ll go in and unlock them and take care of their memories.”
“What about the real crew?” I ask.
“The bi’s know what to do,” Darius tells me, “This isn’t the first bait and switch they’ve gone through.”
“So what about me?” Butch asks, “You’re just expecting me to land this bird and accept that I’ll never remember anything?”
“It really is better that way,” Drake says softly, “You’d never be able to tell anyone – it would land you a one-way ticket in the loony-bin.”
Butch looks tortured and my heart goes out to him. He’s been a real trooper through this all, “How about this?” I ask him, “You’ll remember it as a really fantastic dream. You won’t remember any of our names, but you’ll remember everything that happened in your dream. And that memory will keep away any PTSD or problems transitioning back into being a civilian. How does that sound?”
“You sure you want to do that, Claire?” Darius asks, “Wiping his mind would be a lot easier.”
“I’m sure if you are, Butch,” I tell him and give him a smile, “It’s the least I can do to give you and Becca a chance at a good life together.”
Butch blushes and nods, “That would be fine,” he says a little thickly.
“If we’re done singing Kumbaya,” Bill growls out, “You’ve got ten seconds to suit up and get down below.”
I stand up and put my suit all the way on, making sure my cutters and glove are still in my pocket.
Drake lands me in front of the panel, “You got this?” he asks close to my ear and that little tingle in my belly starts again, “Yeah,” I smile, “See you soon.”
He leaves me in the cold darkness again and I set up both phones. Fifty seconds later, I hear the sounds of his voice over the intercom, but I can’t hear the words. The curl of his voice, though, is unmistakably the purr of Italian. I pull my glove on and put the cutters in my grasp. I make sure the panel is completely open so that I don’t accidentally brush the metal door against the live wire.
I close my eyes for a second and think about all the people on the plane whose lives are literally in my hands. Once clutching a pair of wire cutters and the other – finger hovered over the breaker switch.
“You ready, Claire?” Matt calls out to me.
“All good,” I reply.
“We’re live in ten, nine, eight,” I take a deep breath, “Six, five four,” another,” Two, one – NOW!”
I cut and push immediately after. The pain in my left hand has my whole arm buzzing and I can’t move my fingers, “Back on NOW!” Matt yells at me and I yank the switch furiously.
“Claire, what are the vials doing?” Bill yells out to me, “I need eyes on them!”
I hold the camera over them. One is smoking slightly and another other looks like the sodium-fire that Giuseppe did. As I keep the camera over them, they all go out. I smell something slightly acrid.
“Good – perfect,” Bill tells me, “Don’t touch them yet. They’ll fry even your skin off. Start at the C4 end and work your way back to here.”
I try to shake out my hand, but it’s not responding yet. There’s no way I’m going to be able to climb the stacks – much less pull myself along them – without it.
“You ok?” Drake ask when he appears beside me.
“My hand is numb,” I tell him and he looks at it.
“Jesus,” he hisses, “A little more than numb, I would say,” he grabs me before I can look at it and suddenly I’m back in the cockpit.
“I’ll take care of down below,” he tells me, “Get that glove off and see what the damage is.”
For the first time I glance down at my hand. The rubber is puckered and melted in some areas. Blown and stretched out in others. The cutters are still in my grip – their rubber is melted into the gloves.
“I need some scissors or a knife or something,” I hiss to Serge when I stick my head out the door. He quirks a brow at me and comes back with a pair of nail scissors.
I start cutting the black rubber away. I can feel the scissors scrape along my palm like running your nail down frosted glass. God I hate that feeling. Frosted glass is not allowed in my house.
When I finally get my hand out, the back is reddened and all of the hair has been burned off. I move it over with my other hand. My fingers are yellow and look frost-bitten. My palm is developing a huge blister close to where my fingers join.
“How much did I take?” I ask into the phone.
“Enough to kill a human,” Bill growls back, “Better you than me, girly. But you did good. Three and a half seconds and no explosion. That’s a good day in my book.”
I don’t answer. I know I’ll heal and I know it’s all on Butch right now. I glance at him. He’s all focus and concentration. He has an earpiece plugged into his phone and is responding to Rick’s directions.
I struggle out of my suit with one hand. I’m starting to shake now, and I don’t know if that’s adrenaline or healing.
“I’m going to need a wing-man, Claire,” Butch tells me, “That’s where the whole phrase came from, you know,” he chuckles, “Can’t think of anyone better than you, “ he gives me a look, “You want to put on those headphones and take this girl down with me?”
I grin back to him and plug in, “Let’s land this bitch.”
“Virgin Air six-six-six-nine,” the tower calls, “This is Miami International. We have you on radar. Please verify your speed and heading.”
“Miami International, this is Virgin Air six-six-six-nine,” Rick replies. We have the phone next to the mike, “We’re at 20 thousand heading east-northeast at 40 knots. Flight plan is logged and we are currently three minutes ahead of schedule. Please advise.”
“Roger, six-six-six-nine,” the tower answers, “Increase altitude to twenty-five and head for setting twenty-five forty-five north, eighty-one-eleven west. We’re going to have you circle around the backside and come in from the northwest.”
“Roger, tower. Six-six-six-nine out,” Rick says and Butch clicks off the radio, adjusting the plane to the new altitude.
“Easy, Butch,” Rick says through the phone, “They didn’t say anything about changing speed, so just keep it nice and steady.”
“Right,” Butch says, backing off on the acceleration. Drake has been working like a dog getting all of the evidence of the bomb cleared. We have about ten minutes before we are scheduled to start final-approach.
“So if this were a movie,” I start, trying to ease some of the pressure Butch must be under, “What actors would play us?”
He snorts, “Well, I’m not getting Sandra Bullock, that’s for sure,” he laughs, “I’d be all right with Hugh Jackman, I suppose.”
“And me?” I ask him, enjoying the banter.
“Dunno’,” he shrugs, “You may have to play yourself.”
“If I do that with Hugh Jackman, the cockpit scene is going to be a lot more steamy than what’s going on right now,” I snort and he laughs back, taking a quick peek at me before returning to the controls.
“I heard that,” Drake chuckles over the phone, “So who would play me, Claire?”
“Hmmm,” I pretend to ponder, “Phillip Seymour Hoffman?”
“You’re going to pay for that,” Drake growls and my stomach flutters at the innuendo, “Besides, he’s dead. Try again.”
“Dennis Hoffman?” I ask innocently and Butch snorts.
“You are impossible,” Drake growls again.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, dropping my voice to a whisper, “Robert Pattinson is the only guy who can accurately portray you,” I laugh.
He mutes his phone.
“You shouldn’t tease him so much, you know,” Butch chuckles, “A man’s ego is a very fragile thing.”
“Drake’s ego wouldn’t fit in this whole plane,” I shake my head, “He can afford a couple of knocks. Trust me – he’ll be fine.”
Butch scowls at me but says nothing as he turns his head back to his duties.
We sit for a few more minutes in silence until Butch hits the phone, “Rick, we’re nearly at the coordinates.”
“Gotcha’,” Rick responds, “Signal the tower again when we’re there.”
It’s amazing watching Butch and listening to how he and Rick sync-up. If it weren’t for his accent, I’m convinced that Butch wouldn’t need Rick at all. And I have to wonder why the tower isn’t questioning why the pilot doesn’t have an Italian accent. But perhaps they’re so used to international flights that an American pilot returning from Italy doesn’t rattle them anymore.
I take the momentary lull – listening to the banter back and forth between Rick and the tower and Rick and Butch – to pull open my ticket envelope and look at my next destination for the first time.
“MIA to LVN” the itinerary tells me, “Land MIA 3:40 AM. Depart MIA 4:10 AM.”
“Great,” I sigh, looking at the gates, “I have half an hour to get through customs and all the way to another concourse to make my plane. What are the odds of that? And damned Giuseppe – thirty freaking minutes? Really? That was the best he could do? Damn demons,” I snort to myself.
Rick is on the mike to the tower again and Butch immediately banks the plane in correction to the tower’s direction. I take a chance and try Drake again.
“Hey, we’ll need to make announcements soon. How’s it going?” I ask him.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” he grumbles, “The bomb is packed up and I’m just starting to get the luggage.”
“Ok, no pressure,” I tell him, “We have,” I look over to Butch.
"Three minutes,” he tells me.
“Three minutes before you need to make announcements,” I tell Drake.
“Yeah – no problem,” Drake grunts, “I’ll even pick up trash and make sure everyone is upright and locked on my way in.”
I bite my lip. I don’t know what’s going on between us and why he’s suddenly so hot and cold to me. I miss the old Drake – the one who teased me and flirted with me and made me feel wanted. Now he’s making me feel guilty about even calling him in.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, thinking maybe Butch is right after all. But I’ve teased Drake much harder than this before and he always rolled with it. I don’t understand him now. Is this change in him because of his move to Phoenix? Did I do something wrong? I mute my phone.
“I need some air,” I tell Butch, “Is it ok if I step out?”
Butch gives me a strange look, “Sure,” he tells me, “Start getting the crew arranged and see what you can do about moving those pilots in here. The men will do whatever you need.”